Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
But Jensen bursts into fresh tears, and turns agonized eyes my way.
“Please Mr. Costas,” he begs. “I’ll figure it out! I’ll make things right, not with money, but with the woman. You’ll love her, I guarantee it.”
My brother sighs and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Just get out,” he barks. “We’ll talk later.”
“No please! I’ll get you the woman!” Jensen screams while scrambling to his feet. He scoops the watch up and puts it into his pocket, instead of on his wrist. “I promise! Just give me a day.”
I turn my back in disgust. But Tom is kinder.
“Fine,” he says in a curt voice. “Now go.”
Jensen wipes his eyes and scurries to the door, still sniffling.
“Thank you, Mr. Costas, both of you,” he whispers while letting himself out. Then, the scrawny man scurries down the hall, and I walk over to shut the door.
“What the hell was that all about?” I ask Tom, wrinkling my nose at Jensen’s body odor. “And when is the last time that guy showered?”
Tom laughs fully. “It’s our fault. We scared him all the way down to his sweat glands.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “What a jackass. You think he really has a mysterious woman on call?”
My brother shrugs.
“Who knows? Something tells me that she’s probably going to be a no-holds-barred whore, which could be fun, come to think of it.” Tom drums his fingers against his desk, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“So what should we do?” I ask my older brother, knowing his moods well. “Whatever Jensen has up his sleeve probably sucks. Let’s be honest: we didn’t want his watch, and we’re probably not going to appreciate this mystery woman either.”
My brother nods, his face pensive.
“Yeah. Let’s see though. Maybe he’ll get creative,” Tom leans back in his chair with a sigh. “He’s desperate, after all. Maybe he’ll deliver.”
I snort.
“Hardly.”
“Well, let’s see what he comes up with,” Tom yawns. “I’ve been bored recently. “Maybe he’ll come up with someone to interest us. He’ll probably break a couple laws to get her, come to think of it.”
“So let him dig his own grave?” I ask, reading my brother’s mind.
“Exactly. Let him keep screwing up, until he can’t climb back out.” Tom nods.
You don’t fuck with a Costas, I think appreciatively. Out loud I ask, “Why did we ever even hire him in the first place?” I cringe as I think about the creepy little man.
“He was referred to us by someone, although I can’t remember whom. But his firm also comes highly recommended for our type of business,” Tom answers, hardly paying attention to me while he paces.
It’s a good point. Costas Holdings, our billion-dollar business, manufactures slot machines, among other items. My brother and I turned our simple yet profitable family business into an empire, with the two of us co-running it at its helm. Thanks to our vast holdings, complex distribution model, and unparalleled wealth, finding good legal representation was a priority from the start. Unfortunately, those same reasons have made it challenging to switch firms, despite how much we personally despise Jensen Draper.
“I am curious about the woman he described,” I say as I walk over to Tom’s minibar to pour us a drink.
Finally, Tom looks up.
“Okay, first of all, you have a minibar in your own office, and second, it’s not even noon,” he says wryly.
“Always looking out for me, big brother. But let’s face it, we both know you have the better scotch. Plus, I need a drink after dealing with that dipshit.” I take the lid off the crystal decanter and pour myself a drink. “Join me?”
“What the hell. We are the bosses.” Tom grins wickedly as he joins me for a toast.
“To whatever the hell Jensen has planned. May we use it to destroy him.”
“Cheers to that.”
We clink our glasses and wait for the phone to ring, each of us wondering just how far Jensen will go to appease the Costas brothers.
4
Michelle
I trudge from the kitchen back to my bed, the first time I’ve moved in hours.
Armed with a glass of rosé and a box of chocolate-chip cookies, I sit cross-legged on my bed and ponder my situation.
“It could be worse,” I say out loud to my little studio apartment. Just as quickly, I shake my head. No, actually I don’t think it could get much worse.
It’s been approximately twelve hours since I left Draper Peabody. I’m jobless, my law license will probably be revoked, and I’m behind on almost every bill. I flop back on my pile of pillows, feeling bitter and lonely.
At least I still have a roof over my head.
I look around my forlorn little apartment, trying to feel grateful for that fact. The walls are an ugly shade of puce, made all the uglier by the fact that the paint is cracking everywhere. A spot of mold started growing by the window the other week, and despite my efforts to bleach it, it continues to come back. The place came partially furnished, which I thought would be a perk.